Seven Days on Kilimanjaro: From Rainforest to Roof of Africa
I kept a journal on Kilimanjaro. Some of it is eloquent. Most of it is barely legible — written in a tent at 4,600 meters with frozen fingers and a headlamp casting weird shadows. Here's the truth of seven days on Africa's highest peak.
Day 1: Machame Gate to Machame Camp (1,800m to 2,835m)
The trek begins in tropical rainforest. The Machame Gate is chaos — porters loading gear, guides checking permits, trekkers nervously adjusting backpacks they clearly packed an hour ago. Park fee: $70/day. My operator had handled everything.
The first 5-6 hours are uphill through dense forest. Colobus monkeys in the canopy. Bird calls I couldn't identify. The trail is muddy — it had rained the night before. My boots were filthy within 30 minutes.
The air was thick and humid. The oxygen was abundant. I didn't appreciate this at the time.
Machame Camp sits at the boundary between forest and heather zone. My tent was already set up. The cook made rice, vegetables, and chicken. I slept in my sleeping bag on a foam mat and thought: this is lovely.
It wouldn't stay lovely.
Day 2: Machame Camp to Shira Camp (2,835m to 3,750m)
Out of the forest into the heather and moorland zone. The landscape opened up — rolling hillsides covered in giant heather that towered 5 meters tall. The air was noticeably thinner. I caught myself breathing harder on the steeper sections.
My guide, Joseph, set a pace I found frustratingly slow. "Pole pole," he said every time I tried to speed up. Slowly, slowly. "The mountain is not going anywhere."
Shira Camp sits on a plateau with the first clear view of Kibo — Kilimanjaro's main volcanic cone with its ice cap. The sunset painted the glaciers orange. I took 50 photos. None of them captured what it felt like.
Temperature dropped to near freezing at night. First altitude headache — dull, persistent. Drank a liter of water. Took paracetamol. Slept poorly.
Day 3: Shira Camp to Lava Tower to Barranco Camp (3,750m to 4,630m to 3,960m)
This is the acclimatization day — climb high, sleep low. We ascended to Lava Tower at 4,630 meters. The air was thin enough that walking felt like jogging. My appetite disappeared. My head pounded.
Lava Tower is a 100-meter volcanic plug where the landscape shifts to alpine desert — nothing grows. Lunar. Barren. Beautiful in a hostile way.
Then we descended to Barranco Camp at 3,960m. The descent felt luxurious — every meter lower brought more oxygen. By dinner, my headache was gone. The "climb high, sleep low" strategy works.
Barranco Camp has the best view on the entire trek — the Barranco Wall rises above camp like a fortress, and the glaciers of Kibo's summit are visible beyond.
Day 4: Barranco Camp to Karanga Camp (3,960m to 3,995m)
The Barranco Wall. Everyone talks about it. A near-vertical scramble up a 257-meter rock face with your hands and feet. There's a path, but "path" is generous — it's a series of ledges and handholds with a very long drop if you mess up.
I loved it. It was the first time the trek felt like climbing rather than walking. The porters, carrying 20kg packs on their heads, scrambled up with a casualness that made me feel deeply inadequate.
Karanga Camp was quiet and cold. The giant groundsels appeared here — alien-looking plants found only at this altitude on East African mountains. Thick trunks, rosette leaves, covered in a woolly coating. They look like something from a science fiction movie.
I drank 3 liters of water. Forced down rice and soup. Tried to sleep. My resting heart rate was 90bpm — normally it's 60. The altitude was making itself known.
Day 5: Karanga Camp to Barafu Camp (3,995m to 4,673m)
The final approach to high camp. Alpine desert — nothing alive except trekkers and their guides. Volcanic rock, dust, and sky. The oxygen level at 4,673m is about 55% of sea level.
Barafu Camp is windswept and cold. Tents cluster on volcanic rubble. The view is extraordinary — you can see Mawenzi Peak (Kilimanjaro's second summit) and the distant clouds that mark the plains below.
Dinner at 6PM. Forced down as much pasta and tea as my stomach would accept. Crawled into my sleeping bag at 7PM. The plan: sleep until 11PM, then summit.
I didn't sleep. The wind shook the tent. My heart hammered. The altitude headache returned. I stared at the tent ceiling for four hours.
Day 6: Summit Night — Barafu to Uhuru Peak (4,673m to 5,895m)
Midnight. Joseph woke me. I put on every piece of clothing I owned — four layers on top, two on the bottom, two pairs of socks, balaclava, headlamp. My hands were shaking but I'm not sure if it was cold or nerves.
The pace was agonizingly slow. One foot. Pause. One foot. Pause. The headlamp illuminated about 3 meters of volcanic scree ahead. A line of lights snaked up the mountainside — other trekkers from other camps.
At 5,200 meters, I stopped and vomited. Joseph gave me ginger tea from a thermos. "Pole pole," he said. We kept walking.
The switchbacks felt endless. Each one promised the summit. Each one revealed another switchback.
At about 5,500 meters, the sky started to lighten. The stars faded. The first color appeared on the eastern horizon.
At Stella Point (5,756m), we hit the crater rim. The sun was coming up. The glaciers — ancient ice, maybe 10,000 years old, disappearing before our eyes — caught the orange light and burned.
The final walk along the crater rim to Uhuru Peak took 45 minutes. My legs moved on autopilot. My brain was cotton wool. The sign appeared.
I cried. Joseph cried. We hugged. He took photos of me holding a flag I don't remember packing.
Fifteen minutes at the top. The clouds were far below. The crater stretched behind us with its remnant glaciers and ash. I could see the curvature of the Earth, or I imagined I could.
Then we descended. Six hours up. Three hours down. Barafu Camp for a 90-minute nap. Then continued descending to Millennium Camp at 3,820m.
Day 7: Descent to Mweka Gate (3,820m to 1,640m)
The descent through the rainforest was a blur. My knees protested. My legs shook. But the air — the thick, oxygen-rich, humid, wonderful air — filled my lungs like a gift.
At Mweka Gate, we held the tipping ceremony. The crew lined up — Joseph, the assistant guide, the cook, four porters. I gave a speech that wasn't as coherent as I'd planned. I handed out envelopes with $350 total in tips. We took group photos.
The drive back to Moshi. Shower. Beer at the Kilimanjaro Breweries taproom. Steak at a restaurant whose name I've forgotten.
Many trekkers recover in Zanzibar after the descent, swapping alpine cold for Indian Ocean warmth. I looked at the mountain from the restaurant. The summit was hidden in clouds. Pair the trek with a Serengeti safari for the ultimate Tanzania trip. Up there, right now, someone was starting their midnight march. Poor pole pole bastards.
